


Prima Facie

by CarpensDiem



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Tower, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-06-12 01:04:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15328329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpensDiem/pseuds/CarpensDiem
Summary: I thought I was normal, or at least as normal as a Stark can be, but then I decided to grab that stupid glow stick of destiny. Terrible decision, really.





	1. Papers and Pepper

The warm spring sun beat down upon the milling hordes of black and crimson caps and gowns. Commencement had just ended and there were graduates rushing to and fro to congratulate their friends and be congratulated by their family. It was a madness I was more than eager to escape, especially with the amount of people apt to recognize me. It was hard to remain anonymous when your last name was Stark.

I finally broke through the swarming crowds, dodging everyone asking for a photo or an autograph and came into full sight of what I had been laughing at ever since I had caught sight of it. The neon green, flashing sign atop a long black limousine, parked just curbside. The sign gleamed five letters; my name, Mitch. It twirled about like an emergency siren, practically begging all to look. And that was exactly what they did. 

“Classic Tony,” I shook my head with a giggle as I escaped the throng of people and skittered over to the sidewalk, where Happy Hogan, Tony’s long time security guard, was waiting.  

“Congratulations, Miss Stark,” Happy smiled at me, which I fondly returned. I hopped into the door he opened for me and was instantly greeted by my obnoxious brother, who had a smug grin plastered onto his face.

“Mitch!” he regaled me, raising his hand in my direction, and making a show of toasting to me before finishing off the already almost empty glass of champagne. It clearly had not been his first. “Like the sign I made? How does it feel to yet again be one-upped by your big brother?”

“Like always — amazing,” was my usual sarcastic quip to this timeless taunt. 

“Turning eighteen in a week and you’ve just graduated Harvard now. I’m disappointed.”

“Then I guess you’ll be upset to know that I was offered a chance to start doctoral classes as soon as I wish.”

“What?” Tony practically yelped, nearly dropping the bottle of champagne he was refilling his glass with. “They did? Doctoral?”

My grin was mischievous. “You hadn’t heard?” 

“Uh no? You didn’t tell me that!” He used his empty glass to point accusingly at me before returning to fill it again. 

“I need a new project,” I sighed, affecting a dramatic air by tossing some of my a few waves of my loose chestnut hair over my shoulder. “A PhD sounds like a nice addition to the collection.”

“Skipping a Master’s?”

“Already have some!” I sang and tossed the degree I clutched at him. He failed to catch it with the champagne glass in his hand and it tumbled to the carpeted floor of the limo. I didn’t care, it was just a piece of paper with my full name, Michelle Isabella Stark, printed on it. It was considered a combined degree because I had spent five years at Harvard instead of the usual four. I was planning on getting several more such pieces of paper anyways. “Who’s one-upped now, Mr. M.I.T.?” 

“Happy, can we leave now?” Tony leaned forward and rapped the glass partition that separated us from the driver. “Mitch is being a bitch.” 

“Lots of traffic, boss,” Happy said over his shoulder to him as I burst into laughter at Tony’s sulking facial expression and rhymes. “We’re also attracting a lot of attention with the sign.” 

“This city is too small,” Tony griped, throwing himself back against the cool leather seats. “I can’t wait to get back to Cali. But anyways, what are you gonna do with your ludicrous amount of teddy bear degrees? Hang them on the wall of your geeky library? Or leave them in this limo I rented?” He glanced down at the floor of the limo where my degrees still lay as though to scoff at them. 

“Maybe I’ll let you burn them to make whatever new dumb metal thing you’re working on next,” I joked, shrugging out of my black graduation gown and tossing my cap onto the empty seat across from me. I kicked off my black pumps next and tucked my feet under me, smoothing the folds of the simple sleeveless white dress over my knees. Graduation had been a long and boring ceremony. I could hardly wait to return to Malibu and the Mansion I had been away from for so long. While I had enjoyed my time on the east coast, I’d missed my brother, who, when he wasn’t traveling for Stark Industries, spent most of his time on the west. 

“My metal things aren’t  _ dumb, _ ” Tony argued, setting aside his own to pour me a glass of champagne. I accepted it with delight, taking a sip of the bubbly liquid. It was France’s finest, and I expected no less. “They’re actually useful.  _ And  _ they actually, you know, run the company. The company that we both own, effective June sixth, when you turn eighteen.” His eyebrows were raised as though questioning what my “soft science” degrees were going to do to help out the company. 

“One of these is in business administration,” I pointed out, reaching down to scoop up the physical representation of the Harvard curriculum I had eaten my way through in the past several years. I was an academic at heart. We both knew it. “Another’s in psychology. The third is in international relations. Don’t know if you realize this, living in your garage playing with cars all day, but the stuff you create gets sold to  _ people _ .”

“Really? I thought it was sold to robots and machines,” Tony shot back sarcastically. 

“Not how the world works,” I beckoned him to refill my drained champagne glass, and he ardently did so. By this time, Happy had maneuvered us out of the crowded Cambridge streets and onto the highway, to both of our relief. Tony was quick to link his phone up to the limo’s sound system as we sped towards the airport, and soon had AC/DC blasting out of the speakers. I began to sing along as Tony ensured my champagne glass remained bountiful. We spent the next half hour belting out lyrics to rock n’ roll songs and going through as much of the well-stocked fridge as we could before Happy pulled into the airport, where the Stark private jet was waiting.

“Wait till you meet my new assistant,” Tony told me, sounding excited as I snatched up my discarded cap, gown, heels, and degree, and stepped out of the limo, barefoot onto the warm pavement outside. 

“Assistant for what?” I laughed, trying my best to tiptoe across the hot asphalt to the awaiting plane and ignore how dizzy the champagne had made me. Tony followed me, having brought the rest of a bottle with him. “Tying your shoes?”

“No, to change your diapers,” he jabbered back as we galloped up the stairs safely made it onto the private jet, albeit with raucous laughter, to Happy’s distress. 

“Is this your new assistant?” I asked immediately upon spotting the redheaded woman sitting patiently on one of the couches in the luxuriously furnished plane. She was dressed in a professional but stylish black pencil skirt and a matching black blazer with a white blouse underneath, her ginger hair was pulled back in a strict, no nonsense bun, and her red-tipped, flawlessly manicured hands were tapping away with determination at a small Stark Industries laptop. At my words, she ceased whatever she was doing and looked up, meeting my intrigued brown eyes with her focused blue.

“You must be Michelle Stark,” the women rose to introduce herself, but Tony beat her to it.

“Mitch, this is my new personal assistant, Pepper-”

“Virginia Potts,” the redhead added in, “is my real name.”

“-and Pepper this is my baby sister, Mitch. You might have to change her diapers, you don’t mind, right?”

“Of course not, Mr. Stark,” the woman named Pepper said smoothly, and Tony gave her a winning smile, only to hurry over to the table, discard the open bottle he had carried onto the plane and begin browsing through the collection of booze on the table. 

“I’m quite capable of changing my own diapers, Ms. Potts,” I jested, tossing my cap, gown, degree, and heels onto one of the tan leather couches of the jet before reaching out to shake her hand. Her handshake was firm and disciplined, and I liked her instantly. “I’m not so sure about that one, however.” I tipped my head in the direction of where Tony had just opened a new bottle of champagne, only for the cork to fly directly at Pepper and I. My hand still clasping hers, I dragged her down with me into a crouch as the cork flew over our heads, hitting the wall near the cockpit just behind us. Our eyes locked on each other’s from the absurdity of this first meeting, and we shared a quick laugh. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Michelle Stark,” I properly introduced myself with a grin.

“And I’m Virginia Potts, though Mr. Stark calls me Pepper and I suppose it’s caught on. Oh, and I’m quite capable of cleaning up Mr. Stark’s messes,” Pepper said humorously as Tony loudly apologized to us for the violent champagne opening. 

“I don’t doubt it,” I grinned as we rose back to our feet. Pepper shook her head and refused the glass of champagne that Tony offered her, which left him with only me to offer it to. I groaned, beginning to feel drowsy; I didn’t usually drink alcohol but this was a special occasion. I accepted the glass anyway and threw myself onto one of the couches. Sipping the drink slowly, feeling sleep threaten my attention to what Tony was rambling about now. Something about his birthday, and the Malibu Mansion, and how many guests. . . .


	2. Jet Lag and Jarvis

Tony shook me awake when the plane had landed on the west coast. With a whine of annoyance at the possible effects of jet lag, I blinked my eyes open and looked around. Tony was standing above me, grinning mischievously, while Happy was behind him, holding my cap, gown, and other belongings. Pepper had vanished, presumably she was already off the plane. 

“C’mon, you don’t wanna miss this,” Tony urged me out of my curled up fetal position on the couch. Thankfully my half empty glass of champagne had made it onto the table before I had passed out.

“What’s ‘this’?” I queried, unfolding my limbs and tucking my wavy brown hair behind my ears. Despite being aggressively awakened, I felt refreshed and excited from the nap, having slept off most of the negative effects of the alcohol from before. 

“Just a little thing, you know,” Tony said casually, though the look on Happy’s face said otherwise. I giggled at this, taking my black heels from Happy and slipping them on before following the two out of the plane and into the hot California sun. 

“Miss it?” Tony asked with laughter, as I had taken a moment to stop and tilt my head back, soaking in the warm rays of sun. New England rarely had any sun; Malibu was blessed.

“Maybe a little,” I replied, grinning before following him into the waiting car that Happy had pulled up in. Pepper was in the passenger seat, so Tony and I climbed into the back. 

It was a short drive from the airport to the Mansion, the whole time consisted of an argument between Tony and myself about what music to play during the car ride. He wanted his usual eighties rock, I insisted we listen to some more modern songs, which made him go into a tangent about how today’s music was “boring and dry”. At this, I poked fun at his age, which returned him to the fact that it was his birthday the very next day. Finally, Pepper had barked at us to be quiet when we had risen to near screaming at each other and the strength of her tone shocked both of us into silence.

“I like her,” I had admitted in a small voice after the redhead had verbally chewed us out. 

“Why do you think I hired her?” Tony asked with a grin. 

“Oh, are you two talking about me now?” Pepper glanced over her shoulder at the two of us sitting in the backseat of the car, we both looked like children caught misbehaving. By now, we had arrived at the Mansion, and it was looking as glorious as I remembered it. I could hardly wait to crack into a thick novel by one of the pools, or watch the sun set against the glittering waves of the Pacific. 

“Only good things,” I informed her soothingly, sending her a knowing smile, “don’t worry, Ms. Potts, your job is secure.”

Pepper blinked, as though not entirely expecting me to say it. I merely continued smiling at her, which she slowly returned. I wasn’t sure why Tony had introduced her as his “new” assistant, she’d been in the company for a few years now and had been appointed to her current position over six months ago. She was trying her damnedest to do the best she could. 

“How many people did you invite?” I asked my brother as Happy pulled into the underground driveway to park the car amongst Tony’s collection. 

“What are you talking about?” Tony asked, trying to look offended but I could see right through him. 

“To the party.”

“What party?”

“Oh, c’mon, Tony,” I groaned as we cracked the doors open and exited the vehicle. “I know there’s gonna be a party.”

“Welcome back, Miss Stark,” the automated voice of JARVIS came on through the garage and I grinned with absolute delight. I adored the AI system. 

“Hey, Jarv, I missed you, buddy!”

“I missed you, as well, Miss Stark.”

“Good to know someone did,” I jeered at Tony, who mocked injury. By now, Happy had vanished and Pepper had departed, leaving us two to banter. “The party you’re throwing this entire weekend. I’m not stupid; it’s your birthday tomorrow.”

A vicious grin grew on his face, and he turned to lead me out of the garage and onto the upper floors. “That’s not the only reason.”


	3. Reporters and Rhodey

“Oh my God,” I muttered to myself as I stood on the top floor of the Mansion, looking down onto the floors below where the party was beginning to ramp up. Tony had to have invited over two hundred people; all of them rich, all of them famous, all of them there, not just to celebrate his birthday, but my graduation  _ and  _ my own birthday, which was the following week. It was the ultimate Stark family birthday-graduation bash, and I would be lying if I said the atmosphere wasn’t thrilling. This was the kind of exclusive party the media drooled to cover. Pictures from tonight would probably go for thousands of dollars. An invite was better than a golden ticket. 

Being a Stark came with a certain celebrity status already, but Tony had put his own spin on just what that meant for him. I, however, was more of a mystery. I hadn’t quite put myself out there, preferring to spend my time in school so far. But now I had graduated, and in about a week I would be co-owner of Stark Industries with Tony. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for it. Going back to school was tempting, it would satisfy my wild ambition to learn as much as I could. Academia was a comfortable friend. But I wanted to do more. 

“Hey,” a familiar voice came from nearby, and I turned to find James Rhodes, Tony’s best friend and who I held as a second brother. “Tony sent me up to see when you were coming down. There’s a lot of people who want to meet you.”

“I know,” I said, glancing back down at the throng of fancily dressed people entering the Mansion. I could see Happy working to check them all, ensuring they were on the invitee list. “I’m coming down now.”

“You don’t look dressed for it,” Rhodes pointed out, eyeing my bare feet and the maroon silk bathrobe I was still in. I smiled sheepishly. I hadn’t bothered changing since stepping out of the shower, even through curling my dark locks and toying around with my makeup for a bit. A simple nude smokey eye accented my chocolate irises and a light foundation with a touch of highlight and blush completed the overall look. Whatever appearance genes Tony and I had inherited, I adored. 

“I’m getting there,” I promised, looking down into the gathering people below. 

“You’re not afraid of crowds are you?” Rhode asked, though clearly knowing the answer. 

“No,” I shook my head, “it’s just. . . well, next week I co-own the company, you know. Everyone thinks I’m going to be another tech genius like Tony.” 

“You’re not, you’re a people genius,” Rhodes said, sounding very sure of himself.

“What?” I turned to stare at him, begging a further explanation. “What do you mean?”

“Alright, look,” Rhodey came to stand beside me, leaning his arms over the railing edge and nodding down at the party below. “See that blonde girl, in the blue sequined dress? Talking with her group of friends? What can you tell me about her?” 

“Um, I don’t know her,” I frowned, wondering what the point of this was. 

“From looking at her,” Rhodey elaborated, catching my eye and nodding. “I’ve heard of what you did last year, with the bank threat. That cop who was there is an old buddy of mine. He said you picked out the perpetrators just by glancing at them for a few seconds.”

“That was easy,” I grumbled, reflecting back on the memory. A bomb threat had been called in at a bank I had been in, claiming that the bombers were already inside, disguised as civilians. I’d identified them immediately, it was so obvious who they were, the man behind me in line happened to be a police officer, who also happened to trust my whispered few words. I hadn’t understood why he’d hadn’t identified them as easily as I had, but he’d whipped his gun out on the possible bombers, taking them by surprise. A search of their persons had discovered several miniature homemade explosive devices. The cop had thanked me profusely, insisting I stick around to speak to the reporters but I refused; I had more important things to do that day. Mainly, finishing up one of my research papers on the psychology behind terrorism.

“Not for everyone. Look and tell me.” 

“Well, she’s not friends with them,” I corrected his earlier assessment, letting my gaze trail down to the blonde he had pointed out. “She actually. . . she hates them, but is pretending to like them because they’re wealthy, a lot more so than her.”

“What else?” Rhodes pushed. 

“Can you not tell that about her?” I asked him, keeping my eyes on the party below. 

“No, I thought they were friends and she came with them,” Rhodes admitted, sounding decidedly genuine. 

“No, she came alone,” my eyebrows furrowed, because that was odd. What woman comes to a party like this alone? I watched as she scanned the room as though looking for someone, then turned back to fake a laugh at something someone in the group she was hanging around said. She kept an awfully tight clutch on her black handbag-

“Tell Happy to get her out of here,” I suddenly said, rising up onto my tiptoes, confident in my deduction. “She’s one of those scummy reporters, and she definitely isn’t on the invitee list.”

At this, Rhodey laughed rather gleefully and patted me fondly on the shoulder. “You’re right, Mitch. Good job”

I stared at him coldly, realization suddenly dawning over me. “You knew she wasn’t invited.”

“Yeah, I did,” Rhodes smiled like a little boy caught red-handed. 

“Then why. . . .”

“I told Happy to let her in. I wanted to see what you could do,” Rhodes shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “And to prove a point to you.” 

“What point?” I asked, slightly annoyed at him by now. 

“That you’re a people genius!” Rhodey exclaimed, as though upset I hadn’t noticed this. “And let me tell you, if you don’t find a way to be invaluable to Stark Industries, I know plenty of people in the military who would kill to have someone like you around. And I really do mean kill.” 

I stared at him for a long moment before sighing and letting out an appreciative laugh. He had always known how to cheer a Stark up. “I’m gonna get dressed. Um, thanks, Rhodey.” 

“Anytime, Mitch,” he slapped a hand against the bannister and smiled. “And I’m serious about that offer.” 

“I know,” I giggled before padding barefoot down the hall to my room. Technically, the whole floor was mine. Half of it was my bedroom, the other half a combination of a research area, library, and reference area. I called it my lab. Tony had his garage, I had dozens of bookshelves, screens, and databases.

I tugged open one of the dark wooden double doors to my bedroom and stepped inside onto the cream carpet. My room was modern but classic. With floor to ceiling windows occupying an entire wall, giving me a view of the California coast just outside. I loved waking to the rising sun glinting off the Pacific Ocean. 

“What to wear,” I muttered under my breath as if I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to wear. I walked into my attached closet (it was rather formidably sized) and went right over to a red cocktail dress with thin straps and a sweetheart neckline that came down a few inches above my knees. Attractive, but not too slutty. I snorted at this thought as I tugged it off the hanger and snatched up a pair of black heels with gold sparkles to go with it. Classic. 

I changed, added a couple gold bracelets and modest gold hoop earrings to match, checked my hair and makeup in the mirror that made up the left wall of the room, then made sure JARVIS locked the door behind me. The retinal scanner system would only allow myself in, as with every room on this floor. 

“About time!” I exited to find Tony standing in the hallway, drink in hand, evidently looking for me. He was in a two piece light gray suit with a black silk shirt underneath and no tie. His hair had been meticulously combed back and he’d given his goatee a fresh trim. The watch I had bought him for his thirtieth birthday was on his left wrist, and it looked like some flirtatious girl had tried to peck his cheek. And he was already heavily inebriated. 

“I’m coming!” I assured him, laughing as I stepped up to rub my thumb over the red lipstick stain on his right cheek to remove it. “Already with the girls, Stark?” 

He merely grinned before taking my elbow and leading me down to the party below. 


	4. Parties and People Geniuses

The party was a whirlwind. An absolute tornado of smiles, winks, laughter, handshakes, drinking, and Tony standing on a table, or the bar, or the staircase, to raise a toast, to either my graduation, his birthday, my birthday, himself, our parents, me, JARVIS, the United States, or whatever else his intoxicated mind felt the need to. 

I felt as though I had spoken to everyone invited. This was what I referred to as the hedonist type of party. No one over the age of fifty, no one who couldn’t afford the top shelf liquor, and no one who didn’t want to sleep with either myself or Tony. I didn’t follow in similar footsteps of Tony’s lavish, womanizing lifestyle, much to the disappointment of several different men who tried to swoop in for a drunken kiss or approached me with a seductive smile. It wasn’t that they weren’t attractive, but I wasn’t the hook-up drunk at a party type. I was there to study people — with a drink in my hand. I found myself circling through the rooms the party was being held. Sliding into a conversation here, tossing a compliment there, refilling someone’s drink, then sharing a giggle with someone else. 

It was sometime after one in the morning when Rhodey approached me and quietly pointed out the apparently large following I had acquired over the course of the night. Upon asking for clarification, he simply nodded behind me. There, at least half of those still remaining were gathered close. Their eyes and body gestures clearly indicating that I held their attention, viewers eagerly awaiting the next television episode. I shook my head with a laugh as Rhodey high-fived me. “I’ve been watching you. People genius.”

By three AM, however, the party came to an abrupt end. Most of the invited had either left or passed out in the room on the ground floor reserved for exactly that. I was returning from the upper floors, where I had managed to break away from my little clique following for a brief minute to use the bathroom and check my makeup, when Tony popped up beside me. 

“Hey, Mitch!” He exclaimed, his dark eyes glassy, he pointed a finger at me almost accusingly, “Rhodey said you spotted some reporter without an invite? Just by looking at her? Wanna elaborate upon that?” 

“It was obvious,” I shrugged, still baffled as to why they were impressed by this.

“Well,” he grinned, slinging the arm that wasn’t clutching an entire bottle of vodka around my shoulders, “I’m bringing you to the next weapons demonstration.”

“What? Why?” I gasped, blinking in astonishment to clear my own fuzzy brain. What possible use could I be at a weapons demonstration? What was I going to do — psychoanalyze Tony’s missiles? “I was thinking of taking more classes.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you already have enough degrees,” Tony groaned, offering me the bottle of vodka. I refused, so he took a deep swig. Apparently he was at that level. “Degrees are just pieces of paper. I want you to help out with the company. It’s yours too.”

“But I don’t know what I can do! You’re the engineer!” I slipped his arm off my shoulders and took a step away from him. The alcohol was influencing my emotions far too much, I was at a tipping point. 

“I want you to help!” Tony insisted, “you know I hate dealing with the board and all that nonsense.”

“But don’t you just let Obadiah deal with all that?” I crossed my arms. “What if I want to do my own thing?”

Tony’s jaw dropped at this, “like what? What would you do? What do you do with a psychology degree, Mitch?”

“Maybe I’ll make my own company.”

“You already have a company!”

“An industrial company!”

“It’s yours!”

“No, it’s Dad’s!”

At the mention of our father, Tony froze, the near empty handle of vodka he held crashed to floor with a loud shatter. The glass breaking attracted more attention than just the continued elevation of our voices. By now, the house was silent, every pair of eyes glued to our faceoff in the middle of the floor. Someone had even shut the music off. It was deadly quiet. 

“Don’t bring him into this,” Tony began, his voice had dropped to a low warning tone. 

“Well, it is his company,” I clenched my teeth, trying to avoid making a scene but not sure if the alcohol would allow me to prevent it. “He created it, didn’t he?”

“He’s gone, Mitch,” Tony scowled, “he left it to me. To you. To us.”

“I don’t remember him saying that to us,” I said, almost wincing to myself at how snarky booze made me. 

“YOU WERE FIVE YEARS OLD WHEN HE DIED!” Tony lost it, the alcohol not inhibiting his emotions any more than mine. 

“WELL DID HE SAY IT? YOU WERE TWENTY-ONE! DID HE SAY IT?”

“YOU KNOW HE NEVER EXPLICITLY SAID THAT!”

By now, we were screaming at each other, our audience watching us like a tennis match, too afraid to step in, and too enthralled to want to. Thankfully, there were two responsible people on hand to prevent it from spiralling down further into a private family feud in front of dozens of people. 

I was in the middle of shrieking a retort about Dad back at Tony when my vision was filled with strawberry blonde hair, freckles, and a professional black sheath dress. Pepper had appeared from nowhere and was murmuring something soothing to me, but I was too heated to listen. I attempted to step around her and caught a glimpse of Rhodes trying to calm Tony down while Happy directed the rest of the party goers out or downstairs. 

“Miss Stark, please, you don’t want to do this in front of everyone,” Pepper had grabbed my arm and forced me to look at her. 

“I don’t care, he started it,” I pouted like a five year old, avoiding her stern blue eyes and trying to tug my arm away, but her grip was unyielding. 

“You’re both equally guilty,” Pepper said resolutely, like a teacher attempting to cool down two hot-headed second graders. “Come on, I’ll bring you upstairs. Forget about your brother for now.”

“Fine,” I remarked, ceasing my struggle and allowing her to guide me across the floor and up the stairs. “As long as he knows it’s his fault.”

“I’m sure this will blow over after you both go to bed,” Pepper continued placating me. Her voice was pleasantly mollifying and despite my drunken haze I was further pleased that Tony had took her up as his personal assistant.

“I’m glad Tony hired you,” I muttered, pausing halfway up the stairs to bend down and tug off my black and gold heels. A sigh escaped my lips as my calf muscles stretched out, finally freed from the four inch stilettos. I wasn’t even aware of Pepper taking them from my hand as she urged me up the stairs and to my floor. I had the top floor, I’d always loved that. 

“Why’s that?” the ginger asked in a gentle but inquisitive tone. 

“You’re genuine,” I mumbled, drowsiness finally overcoming my brain. We’d reached my floor at last. “You actually care about the company, and about Tony too. You care about both, a lot. And you’re terrified of losing both. This job means everything to you, that’s why you’re always so professional and serious despite how stupid and immature Tony can be.”

“That’s. . . scarily accurate considering we just met earlier today,” Pepper had paused just outside the door to my bedroom and was looking at me with a combination of shock and relief on her face. “Or yesterday, at this point.”

I nodded, somewhere in the back of my fogged mind it pinged that this was probably what Rhodey was referring to. It was probably freaking her out, but I was not willing to stop in spilling everything I’d picked up about Virginia “Pepper” Potts just yet. “You can stop trying to make a good impression with me, I’m not your boss, I’m just a kid, really. Your character already impresses me, so just stay yourself. That’s what Tony likes about you too — you’re feisty, and you can call his bullshit out. He needs that, trust me.”

“I. . . I’ll certainly keep it in mind. Thank you, Miss Stark-”

“You’ll be calling me Mitch soon,” I yawned, half to myself as JARVIS swung my bedroom door open for me. I sent Pepper a grateful salute and insisted I would be alright despite her concerns. Then I stumbled into my room and tossed myself onto my king-sized bed, not bothering to change out of the cocktail dress and leaving a very astonished but appreciative Pepper Potts outside the door. 


	5. Hangovers and Helping

When I awoke the first thing I did was roll over and glance at the wall where the time and weather always was. Thin blue numerals reading “07:43” stared beadily back at me. I groaned and flopped back over. Four, almost five, hours. Of course I couldn’t sleep through a hangover like a normal human being. It was then I realized that my mouth had to be drier than the Sahara Desert and my head felt like blast zone. There was no way I was falling back to sleep feeling like that. 

With a whine, I pushed myself up off the bed and stumbled over to the wall that had the mini-fridge built into it, just inbetween the walk-in closet and the door that led to the bathroom. Making a mental note to thank Tony for stocking my fridge (just as I liked it) before my arrival, I snagged the largest carton of coconut water I could find, practically tore off the top, and guzzled as much as I could until my stomach wanted to hurl it back up. Then I paused, lowering the carton and turned to stare at myself in the mirror wall on the opposite side of the room. 

My red dress was rumpled and wrinkled from sleep, there was a suspicious, vodka scented stain down the left side of it, and the left shoulder strap was hanging near my elbow. The curls had fallen out of my hair, so dark tresses splayed out around my head like a wild mane of untamed waves. But my eyeshadow had only slightly rubbed off, and this greatly impressed me, if the rest of my appearance did not. Laughing at how horrid I looked, I returned the carton to the fridge and made a beeline for my bathroom. I practically tore the red dress off my sore limbs and tossed it to the white marble floor, then requested JARVIS fill the tub and play one of my slower playlists. 

Dean Martin started crooning from the speakers around the bathroom as I went through the newly replenished soaps and scents that stocked the white bathroom. I finally decided on peaches and dumped a haphazard amount of it into the filling tub. I was too tired to care, and slipped into the warm water immediately. It was like a soothing balm to my aching body, even helping to quell my headache. 

I soaked it up for as long as possible before finally climbing out of the tub and wrapping one of the fluffy white towels around me. I hummed along to the wistful intonation of Harbor Lights by Boz Scaggs as I padded through the door that directly connected the bathroom to my closet. There, I grabbed the nearest comfortable clothes I could find, which happened to be a black Stark Industries t-shirt and gym shorts. As I tugged the t-shirt on I vividly recalled the argument that had ended the party last night. It had been absurd; a product of booze and a sibling rivalry that didn’t even exist. Tony and I had directed our ambitions and passions onto different paths, and we both respected the other for it. That was why we got along. That, and the fact that we were all the other had. 

It was almost nine. Deciding to leave my hair wet, I dropped the towel into the laundry shoot that went to the basement and instructed JARVIS to turn the music off. 

“Is Tony up?” I asked the AI as I strolled out of my room and into the hall. The house still reeked of alcohol, to my disgust. “Can you do something about the smell, too?”

“Mr. Stark is awake and is in the kitchen. The vents have been opened and are circulating fresh air as we speak,” came the dutiful reply.

“Great, thanks, Jarv,” I smiled; the AI was Tony’s best invention, I doubted he could ever top it.

“My pleasure, Miss Stark.” Seriously, nothing was better than JARVIS.

Barefoot, I made my way down the stairs and surveyed the main rooms where the party had taken place. It was spotless; I figured Tony had some cleaning robots take care of it. That, or Pepper. Winding through the enormous Mansion I headed into the kitchen where I found a very hungover Tony sitting on one of the counter stools with a blender full of bananas, milk, and vanilla ice cream before him.

“Hey,” he greeted me, sounding just as groggy as myself. “Want some?” He gestured to the yet-to-be blended milkshake before him.

“Hell yeah,” I replied, walking over and sliding into the stool beside him.

Tony stuck the lid on the full blender and pressed the button — and, almost comically, we both yelped as the kitchen was filled with the loud grinding of the blender as it bit into the ice cream, banana, and our hungover heads.

“Make it stop!” I howled, clutching my still aching forehead and leaping off the stool to huddle on the floor. Tony fumbled with the machine for a moment before finally smashing the button to turn it off. When silence returned we both spent a moment panting, heartbeats racing from the unexpected stimulation.

“Well,” Tony removed the part of the blender which held the ingredients and picked up the bottom, electrical part. He inspected it for a moment before unplugging it and slipping off the stool. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” I said nonchalantly as he trudged out of the kitchen and downstairs, towards his laboratory. I wasn’t gonna question him. Instead, I rose back up and sat in the stool again, leaning my elbows on the island before me, I summoned a screen on the granite countertop and had JARVIS display a digitized version of Bram Stoker’s  _ Dracula.  _

I was a ways into the Transylvanian country when Tony finally returned, carrying a very different looking blender.

“I fixed it,” he grunted, dropping his tinkered with product lightly onto the counter. I glanced it over briefly; the electrical cord was gone so I assumed he had installed some sort of battery into it. Besides that very noticeable difference, it was a bit taller and clunkier than before, and had been covered with a few sheets of a thin metal, as though he had installed something inside of it. “There,” he muttered, placing the clear glass part with the milkshake components atop the refurbished bottom. Then he tapped a hand against the counter and pulled up a small screen similar to what was used to control the other upgraded appliances in the house whenever Tony felt like having manual control of something. “I’ve also added it to JARVIS’s software too,” he told me, and I nodded, just wanting to have some of the damn milkshake by now. Tony tapped a button on the holographic screen and the blender whirred to life — silently. 

“Beautiful,” I noted of the quiet.

“I know I am,” Tony smirked, sending me a side glance. 

I rolled my eyes at him. “Is everyone gone?”

“Yeah,” Tony replied, tapping another button when the milkshake was fully blended. I slide out of my seat again to retrieve a pair of glasses from the nearest cabinet. “I think Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy are still here somewhere, but everyone else got kicked out at eight.”

“Good,” I said as he poured two glasses full of the banana shake. We drank in silence for a moment, enjoying the taste before an awkwardness descended between us.

Tony finally cleared his throat and his eyes flicked to mine. “Do you actually want to start your own company?”

I paused, dropping my eyes and swirling the last bit of ice cream froth at the bottom of my glass before shrugging. “I don’t know. I mean, sometimes I get bored, you know. If I choose not to go back to school I’ll be stupidly bored. And I feel like I always have to be doing something productive or I’m wasting my time and talents. If I did, it wouldn’t be anything on the scale of Stark Industries. Maybe like something on the side — something to add to the bank account a bit, and to have some fun with.”

“So you do want to work for Stark Industries,” Tony confirmed, spinning the glass between his hands on the counter.

“Well, yeah,” I looked back up at him, “I’m just not sure what I can do.”

“I’ve got some ideas.”


	6. Drinks and Directors

“You’ll be fine, Mitch, just be yourself,” Obadiah Stane was trying his damnedest to ease my nervousness. It was a few weeks after my graduation and Obadiah, who I considered an uncle, had taken me along with him to a Stark Industries board of directors meeting. He wanted me to help him convince the board to toss more funding and attention to the arc reactor technology we were (still) in the process of developing. The arc reactor had been floating around Stark Industries for years. Dad had come up with it something like thirty or more years ago, but nothing had come to fruition from it. Now, Tony wanted the board to agree to the upgrading of the reactor that had been sitting in one of the labs for years, and Obadiah insisted it be heavily in the public eye. I didn’t really think much of the arc reactor, and I wasn’t entirely sure how I was supposed to convince the board on it, but both my brother and Obadiah were convinced I would be perfect at it.

“I’m trying,” I mumbled, nervously patting the stark ponytail my hair was pulled back into, ensuring it looked respectable enough. I was dressed professionally, with sternly pressed black suit pants, a crisp white blouse, and a black blazer, completed with modest black flats and my black-rimmed glasses. I was looking to make a good impression on the board. They all knew I had just turned eighteen a couple weeks ago, and I hoped not to be taken as a child. “I might need some time to observe first, though.”

“This meeting is supposed to go on for a week, because the bastards can never agree on anything, so take as much time as you need,” Obadiah smiled reassuringly at me. We were just outside the doors to the room the meeting was being held in, on one of the business floors of the new tower Stark Industries had just purchased in New York City. 

“Okay, thanks,” I returned the smile, tapping my foot against the new marble floor. “I’m ready.”

Obadiah stepped forwards and tugged the door open, allowing me to enter before him. I walked into the room, and my eyes flew around to study its occupants. Evidently, we were the last to arrive. Around the long rectangular table sat about a dozen members of the board, all of them middle-aged or older men in silk summer business suits of varying shades of blue and gray, chatting formally about dealings on Wall Street, who they suspected their wives were having affairs with, and the weather. I studied the room; it was a typical meeting room, with a long wooden table surrounded by comfortable leather swivel chairs. Wide windows were on the right side of the room, allowing a view of Manhattan’s urban life outside. To the right of the door I had entered through was a small side table which held pitchers of water, tall glasses with ice, fresh coffee and porcelain mugs, a bottle of champagne with a several long-stemmed glasses, and a few dishes of a choice selection of pastries. Large television screens made up the left wall of the room, with a few long benches underneath them. Each TV was turned to a different news channel, though all were on mute.

“Gentleman, may I introduce Michelle Stark, Howard’s only daughter,” Obadiah stepped into the room behind me and addressed the board. Their gazes turned towards me and I was met with nods and a few smiles. They then flew around the table, each introducing themselves, a few adding in a word or two about how “nice it was to finally meet me” and how they’ve been “seeing my photograph in the papers and magazines” for years and how I was “just as pretty in person”. I kept silent through it all, occasionally nodding, smiling, or laughing when necessary. I had an anxious feeling none of them were taking me seriously already. 

Once all the niceties were exchanged, Obadiah pulled one of the leather swivel chairs out for me. I accepted it with a smile, sitting down and getting myself comfortable, but not too much so. Obadiah took the seat at the head of the table; I was on his right, next to the board member who had introduced himself as Edward Hanton. He gave me a wink when I glanced over at him to which I smiled, masking the shiver of unease this sent through me. 

There was some brief banter before the meeting was formally initiated. Obadiah used the televisions to bring up a few graphs, charts, and whatnot and the board began discussing them. I was quiet, studying the dynamics within the room and listening to the words and tones of the board members. Obadiah was right; they never seemed to agree on anything because every member thought his opinion was divine. They didn’t seem to have a clear leader among them, and seemed to like placing bets on the newest piece of tech Tony would create. A few minutes into this and Edward Hanton leaned over towards me. 

“Michelle, would you be a dear and pour me a cup of that coffee over there? And add a bit of milk to it, too,” his voice was polite, so I plastered a smile on my face as I looked into his beady blue eyes. I didn’t like what I saw there at all.

“Sure,” I said, forcing my tone to be good-natured and jovial. The conversation continued around me, though Obadiah shot me a glance as I rose and made my way to the side table holding the refreshments. I had no sooner made and placed the mug of coffee in front of Hanton before another board member voiced his request for a glass of water. And then another wanted black coffee, and another some champagne. The next thing I knew, I was serving refreshments to every member around the table. 

“This wasn’t exactly what we meant when we wanted you to attend the board meetings,” Obadiah muttered in my ear. He had stood and joined me at the table where I was busying myself with the drinks and glasses. 

“I know, play along,” I murmured back, hiding a grin. Meeting his eyes, I flicked my wrist upwards to where the temperature thermostat was on the wall just above the refreshments table. I had noticed it when I had first made Hanton his coffee, and the idea had struck me then. With a few taps, I set the air conditioning as high as possible, so that the temperature would plummet within the room. The board would be freezing very soon in their light summer suits. “End this as soon as possible. I’ll throw the arc reactor to them tomorrow. If all goes to plan, this meeting will be over by then.”

“How are you gonna do that? By baking them cookies and batting your eyelashes?” Obadiah snorted, having watched me lower the room’s temperature as though I was insane. 

I merely smiled, poured another mug of black coffee and handed it to him. He accepted it with ease, though a questioning look still remained in his eyes. Once everyone had been served whatever coffee, water, or drink they desired, the meeting continued. I settled myself back in the chair on Obadiah’s right and sipped on my own mug of coffee, watching with amusement as the members of the board began shifting and shivering as the temperature dropped. 

“It’s a bit chilly in here,” I spoke up when there was a lull in the conversation. I was met by several murmurs of agreement. “I think I heard the receptionist saying the thermostat had broken this morning. It’s supposed to be fixed after this meeting today.”

“After today’s meeting, you say?” Hanton raised an eyebrow at this then looked around the room at everyone else, speaking what was on everyone’s mind. “Shall we adjourn for today and let them fix the thermostat?”

Grateful nods and agreement passed around the room, and almost instantly, every member was scrambling out of their seats and filing towards the doors, teeth near chattering and hands rubbing themselves together in a poor attempt to warm the blood running through their aging veins. Obadiah remained behind, drumming his fingers against the table as I sat beside him, quietly drinking my coffee. Once every member departed, I leapt to my feet and strode over towards the thermostat.

“I don’t recall speaking to the receptionist when we arrived here today,” Obadiah remarked, rising from his seat and clicking off the televisions.

“Your memory is correct,” I replied, keeping my voice expressionless. I reversed the setting on the thermostat, adjusting it back to the normal room temperature. 

“Care to share what game you’re playing at, Mitch?” Obadiah asked as we went to depart. 

“I’m just helping out in the way I can,” I shrugged, a mischievous smile on my face. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”


	7. Influence and Inheritance

At my request, Obadiah and I arrived earlier than the others at the tower for the meeting today. I strolled into the room, heels of my black pumps clicking against the marble floors. Today, I was dressed in a sleeveless, knee-length red dress with a v-neckline, revealing enough skin to peak interest but not enough to be considered indecent. At the moment, I wore a button-up black sweater over the dress, though did not intend to have it on for long. My hair was down, in slight waves almost reaching my elbows which swayed against my back with every step I took. I was not above using my appearance to influence the board today. They already saw me as a silly little girl of no practical use. I’d left the glasses behind today. 

I went right over to the side table, newly stocked for today’s meeting with an assortment of drinks and pastries. These, however, I ignored. Instead, I tapped the screen of the thermostat and turned the heat on. Setting the temperature to well in the nineties. 

“Do I want to know what you’re doing?” Obadiah asked as he flicked the televisions on and began pulling up the arc reactor blueprints and plans. 

“You’ll see,” I told Obadiah with a slight shrug. Today, I took the seat at the head of the table. He raised his eyebrows at this, but simply smiled and took the seat to my right, where I had sat the day before. I settled myself in the comfortable leather chair, with my back straight, arms resting on each armrest, right leg crossed over left, my right foot bouncing lightly up and down.

It wasn’t long before the board members began filing in, claiming their seats around the table. A few gave me intrigued glances at my new seating, and I smiled pleasantly at them, but made sure the look in my eyes dared them to question me. 

Once all members were seated, conversing lightly among themselves, I cleared my throat. Evidently, not loud enough, so I proceeded to cough until all eyes were on me. 

“Do you need a cough drop, Michelle, dear?” Edward Hanton asked me, sending me a sweet smile.

“It’s Miss Stark, Edward, dear,” I replied, just as sweetly, causing him to blink, taken aback. “May I have your attention, all.” I leaned forward, folding my hands and resting them on the table before me. I was silent for a moment, practically willing them into paying respectful attention to myself and ensuring all eyes and minds were on me. 

“Thank you,” I finally began, unfolding my arms and picking up the remote Obadiah used to control the screens on the left side wall. “As you are all aware, my father, Howard Stark, invented the arc reactor years ago.” While I spoke, I clicked the remote, flashing through the pictures of the arc reactor. My eyes scanned the table, making sure each member was watching the slideshow.

“Now,” I cleared my throat, regaining the room’s attention, waiting until all eyes settled back on me before beginning. “Can anyone tell me what the arc reactor does?”

Echoing silence within the room. It was as I expected, most members of the board did not actually understand the technology Tony and our father invented. Why would they? They weren’t super geniuses, just adept businessmen, who by now had sweat glistening on their foreheads and dampening the crisp collars of their suits. A few were shifting uncomfortably from the heat. 

“Gentlemen,” I allowed my voice to ring throughout the room, tinting it with authority and pride. “The arc reactor may just be the next step in renewable, sustainable energy and technology.”

“Is it though?” one of the members interjected, “does it actually work?”

“Is it going to make a profit?” another demanded, and the nods around the table and mandating glances in my direction at this question summed up the mood of the arc reactor. 

I smiled around at the table, then pushed my chair back from the table and rose to my feet. “It’s getting a little hot in here,” I casually remarked, and then proceeded to shrug my black sweater off, revealing my bare arms and shoulders, sun-kissed from the strong California sun. I tossed the sweater over the back of the leather chair and walked towards the screens across the room. I could feel every eye in the room scouring me. My heels clicked with every step, sounding like power. I imagined them emitting waves of influence throughout the room, seeping into the sweat-soaked suits and minds of the men around the table.

“This,” I paused right in front of the screens and gestured to the blueprints of the arc reactor. I turned around to face the table, checking where their eyes lay. “Is our inheritance. It’s a money-maker. Pure and simple, gentlemen.”

“Mind explaining that a bit more, Miss Stark,” Obadiah asked, and I shot him an appreciative glance for not only referring to me as Miss Stark, but also adopting a respectful, subservient tone. He winked in return.

“Of course, Mr. Stane,” I replied, and stalked towards the table, coming to a pause in between where two of the members sat. I graced them with a kind smile and placed a hand on a shoulder of each, in a compatriotic, amicable manner. Both stared at me with wide eyes, glancing from my hand to my face, though not without trying to glimpse a look at my cleavage — like most of the table had been since I removed my sweater. 

“Gentlemen,” I said again, though this time I leaned slightly forwards, a sly smile on my face, as though I was about to share with them a juicy secret. “Listen up closely.” It worked like a charm, every man around the table mimicked my movements, leaning in and perking up, excited grins playing around their mouths, causing them to forget about the sweat dripping down their brows. Everyone loves being let in on a secret; they would eat it up. 

I lightly squeezed the shoulder of the two members beside me, ignoring the fact that their tailored suits were damp with their perspiration. I grinned, keeping my voice low as if bringing each member there into an exclusive, little known conspiracy. “Imagine it: Stark Industries researching cutting edge, futuristic, clean energy. Steps ahead of the competition, with the full force of the company investing in renewable energy sources. What’s as hot as this room right now? Renewable energy. We announce our investment in this pursuit, and what happens? The media will rave over it, the public will adore it. Stark Industries will be praised to the heavens. Our stocks will follow. And, don’t forget, gentlemen: your wallets will feel a hell of a lot heavier.”

There was a charged silence within the sultry room as I awaited a response from the board. I fondly squeezed the shoulder of the two members on either side of me again, I believe their names were Mark Bellam and Jordan Kissinger, and they were the first to begin clapping. The rest soon followed suit, and I broke into a delighted grin. 

“All in favor of reinvesting in arc reactor tech?” Edward Hanton announced, and hoarse calls of “aye” came from around the table. Obadiah caught my eye and he mimed the raising of a glass to me. 

“On behalf of my brother, Tony, my father, Howard, God rest his soul, and myself, I thank you gentlemen,” I declared to the whole room, before swooping down and placing a brief kiss on the cheek of both Bellam and Kissinger. I allowed myself a small smirk at the gaping jaws and flushed faces this left them with before patting their shoulders one last time and moving around the table to pick up the papers I had typed out a week ago in preparation for the meeting. 

“I just have one last thing to ask of you gentlemen,” I declared, beginning to pass out the contracts that would ensure the reinvestment; my hair swung a sniff of perfume as I leaned over to hand each board member a contract. “Actually,” I paused halfway down the table, maintaining the full attention of the board and building an air of slight supsense. “Two things,” I continued handing out the contracts. “First, before we depart this hellishly hot room and file a complaint with whoever’s job it was to fix the thermostat, if I could get your lovely John Hancocks on these,” I paused again until I finished going around the table. “And second,” I smiled, glancing around at the board and giving a merry wink, “if you would give me the pleasure of mingling and shooting the breeze with you in the lobby downstairs, I would be absolutely delighted. Refreshments will be served, of course.”

There was a general murmur of pleased assent from the table, then silence as each member scrawled his signature on the contracts. I kept a smile on my face as I thanked the board again and dismissed them. They eagerly followed my word, departing the high temperature room as quickly as possible.

“Well, I’ll be damned, Mitch,” Obadiah laughed once all the members had gone and I scooped up all the contracts. “That was something else.”

“Yeah?” I tilted my head to the side, desperate for an answer to my next question: “is that what you and Tony wanted me to do?”

“That was above and beyond, Mitch. I think Rhodes had the right idea,” he said, sounding rather impressed. “My God, you should have seen and heard yourself. Absolutely captivating, even I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You played those men the same way Tony plays with engines. They’re wrapped around your finger. You know, your father always appreciated business talent. He would be damned proud of you.”

At the mention of my father, I gave him a small smile. I barely remembered Dad, but his legacy was so prestigious (despite Tony’s complaints that our dad never told him he loved him) that I appreciated any connection to him in comparison to my own actions. “Thanks, Obie.”

“Now, it’s hot as hell in here,” he chuckled, offering me his arm, and I took it gladly, “which worked. But let’s go cement your Stark Industries newest sweetheart co-owner status with the board.”


	8. Bagels and Bankrolls

Obadiah and I were driving back to the Malibu Mansion with Happy in tow, in the matte red and black Lamborghini Tony had gifted me for my birthday. I adored the car, especially the direct hookup to my favorite music, and the speed to which it could accelerate too. Obie had almost begged me to give him a chance to drive it, but I obstinately refused; no one else was allowed to drive my baby.

“At least your music choice is better than Tony’s,” Happy had to shout from the backseat, over the lyrics of a Backstreet Boys song. “If not your driving.”

“I’m telling Tony you think his music choice is trash!” I laughed before belting out the opening line to I Want It That Way. 

“Please don’t, Miss Stark-”

“I’m only joking, Happy, don’t worry. I would never tell my brother that you like boy bands.”

Obadiah then leaned forward to turn the music down, to my annoyance. “Might want to watch your driving, cops usually patrol this area.”

“We’re five minutes from home,” I protested, rolling my eyes while Happy turned around to check the rear window. 

“Five minutes at this speed,” Obadiah noted that the speedometer was pushing one hundred and twenty miles per hour. “You’re paying the ticket if you get one.”

“There’s a keyword in that sentence,” I laughed, turning the music up from the control on the steering wheel. 

“Yeah, well, ‘if’ is about to become ‘when’ real soon,” Happy noted, his tone descending enough for me to check the rearview mirror to spot what he was worried about. The California police car that had just rounded the bend I had whipped us around. “Real soon,” he repeated, as we all watched the officer flash his lights and sirens on and begin the chase.

“Damn,” I sighed, easing my foot off the gas and letting the Lamborghini drift towards the side of the road. It took some time for the car to come to a stop from the high speed I had been cruising at. In the meantime, I removed my sunglasses and tucked them into the compact compartment in between the driver and passenger seats, smoothing out the loose waves of my hair as I did so. 

“Car’s new, he probably doesn’t recognize it,” Obadiah mentioned as I put the Lamborghini in park and lowered the music to background noise. 

“Is that Peter Lopez?” I asked with a smile, watching the uniformed officer get out of the car a bit down the road from the Lamborghini. I immediately recognized him as the officer who was newly assigned to patrol these parts, having pulled Tony over when he and I had gone into town a few weeks back. He was still new to the force and was eager to prove himself as competent. Tony had given him a smile and an apology before Lopez let us go with a nothing more than a warning and a promise of a ticket next time.

“Who?” Happy asked, looking distraught over the fact that we had attracted the attention of law enforcement.

“He pulled Tony over once. Let me handle this, gentlemen,” I requested, sending a stern look at both Obie and Happy, then rolled down the window as Lopez approached. “Hey, Pete, how are you?”

“Oh, uh, hello Miss Stark,” Lopez said, suddenly becoming flustered under the charming smile I gave him. The young officer was only a few years older than me, with dark hair under his officer’s cap, sun-tanned skin from a life in the California sun, and light mocha eyes that snapped eagerly around to whatever attracted his attention. “I, uh, didn’t realize it was you.”

“New car,” I shrugged, sending him a wink. The license plate said MITCH instead of STARK. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

“Yes, beautiful,” his eyes were glued on me; he blinked as though not entirely sure what he ought to do or say next and was standing slightly away from the car, further away than an officer normally would during a traffic stop for speeding. I jumped at the advantage.

“Say, Pete, you have anything going on this Friday?” I asked smoothly, allowing my lips to curve into a small smile. I sent him another wink for good measure, my hands remaining at ten and two on the steering wheel and my posture straight, but relaxed. 

“Uh, not that I can think of at the moment. . . .”

“Well, have you tried that new frozen yogurt place in town?” I tilted my head slightly to the right and sent him another winning smile. “I heard it’s all the rage.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve heard of it. Haven’t tried it yet-”

“Wait, really?” I added a small squeal to my voice and excitement entered my eyes, though I kept my hands on the wheel and my body motionless so as to not trigger his training regarding dangerous traffic stop drivers. “Oh my God, would you wanna go with me? You live just outside of town right? I can pick you up and we can go; you’ll get to ride in this gorgeous car — I promise I won’t drive as fast as I just was while you’re in it. I know how valuable you are to the police. You know, your captain has mentioned a lot of good things about you.”

Lopez looked confused for a moment, before my words broke over him and it was like the sun had dawned on his face after a long winter. “Oh, oh! Yeah, definitely, that would be awesome, I’d love to-”

“Great! Can’t wait!” I exclaimed, pressing the button on the wheel to turn the Lamborghini’s engine back on. Lopez made no protest to this. “Pick you up at six on Friday then?”

“Yeah!” Lopez finally smiled, and touched his hand to his hat in a respectful salute. It was clear I was free to go. “I look forward to it, Miss Stark.”

“Great, see you then!” I sent him one last smile, then put the car in drive and pulled back onto the road. I drove slower than I was earlier, before I turned the bend so Lopez was out of sight, then sped the final few minutes home.

“Wow,” the car had been silent since the interaction with the officer, but once I pulled into the garage back at the Mansion, Obadiah found his voice. “That’s something I’ve never seen before.”

“What?” I asked him, pulling the Lamborghini into its spot besides Tony’s favorite orange one and turning the engine off with a loving flourish. 

“You charm that man into a date with you.”

“I was charming him  _ out  _ of giving me a ticket now or in the future,” I explained with a laugh. “And I’ll get frozen yogurt too. He’s going to insist on paying for it despite the fact that my car costs more than he’ll make in his profession.”

“You can’t  _ know _ if the guy is going to pay-” Happy interrupted but I cut him off.

“Yes, you can, Happy,” I snorted, then stabbed an accusing finger at him as he exited the Lamborghini.  “And close the door gently!”

  
  
  
  


“Hey, hey, you’re back early,” Tony exclaimed as I entered the living room, where he and Pepper sat, of the Malibu Mansion from the stairs that lead to the garage below. Obadiah was right behind me, carrying the bag of bagels we had brought from New York. Happy had vanished soon after we had returned to the Mansion. 

“Got pulled over on the way here,” Obadiah immediately ratted me out. 

“Ha!” Tony exclaimed, sitting up from his half-laying down position on the couch where he was fiddling with what looked like the insides of a miniature missile. I noticed that he was wearing an old Black Sabbath t-shirt and a pair of the same jeans and sneakers he always wore whenever he spent a whole day in his lab, which would explain why his hair was a mess and he needed a shave. He raised a hand to stop Pepper from questioning him on a list of things he had to say yes or no to. His assistant sighed; placing the tablet screen she held on the table in between her and Tony, she leaned back against the couch and brushed some invisible lint from her black pencil skirt, then from her white speckled navy blue blouse. She had clearly been trying to get Tony to check things off the business list for the entire day but had to put up with him getting distracted by everything and anything else. 

“Tell me Mitch got a ticket,” Tony practically begged. I rolled my eyes and took the bag of bagels from Obadiah, heading into the kitchen to eat one. “And make me a bagel, Mitch!” Tony yelled after me. “You got pulled over in my car!”

“I thought it was my car!” I shouted back through the house as I entered the kitchen. I dumped the bag onto the island in the middle of the room, grabbed one of the larger serving plates from the nearest cabinet, then tugged the fridge open for cream cheese. I pulled out the carton, snagged a bunch of knives from the drawer beside the fridge and put them all on the plate before pulling out of the bag a blueberry bagel for myself, a cinnamon raisin one for Tony, sesame seed for Obadiah, and, after pondering what Pepper’s favorite bagel type would be, pulled out another cinnamon raisin. It just seemed right. I popped them all into the toaster oven that suspiciously looked like Tony had put his mind to it while I was away.

“I made it!” Tony continued our bickering from the other room, where I heard Obadiah correcting the fact that I did not get a ticket but had “charmed the officer to let us go”.

“I didn’t get a ticket, I got a date!” I shouted through the house. “What did you do with the toaster, Tony?!” and I heard him snicker as I twisted the dial on the toaster oven.

“Made it better. Watch how fast it works now. Who’s the guy?”

“Holy crap,” I said to myself aloud as the appliance heated up incredibly quickly. So quickly, I had to take several steps back. 

“I heard that!” Tony said, and I could hear the grin in his voice. “I expect that my bagel will be done right. . . .”

“Now, sir,” JARVIS dropped his two cents into the convo.

“Now!” Tony repeated from the living room, and I rolled my eyes. They were both right. The bagels were an enticing golden brown as I pressed what looked like a lever and they all slide off neatly onto the plate I placed beneath the oven’s opened door.

I sliced each in half, then carried the plate of warm bagels, cream cheese, and several knives back into the living room, where Obadiah was sitting in one of the round wooden chairs across from the couch, expressing his excitement about my performance at the board meeting. 

“Your toaster might be impressive, Tony, but let me tell you about your little sister in the board of directors’ meeting,” Obadiah said as I placed the plate of bagels on the table and instantly, Tony and Obadiah dove in to grab one. Tony snatched up a cinnamon raisin and Obadiah taking the sesame seed.

“Mitch is a goddamned force of nature,” Obadiah continued as the two practically fought for the tub of cream cheese. “Blew them out of the water. A little winking, a little smiling, a little sweet talking-”

“Oh my God,” Tony almost dropped his bagel. “Mitch, you slept with the entire board just for the arc reactor?”

“Yeah, Tony, that’s exactly what I did. Slept with a bunch of old men.” I sarcastically retorted, tugging the cream cheese out of his hand and spreading it on the blueberry bagel. “Pepper, that one’s for you,” I nodded to the last remaining bagel on the plate. 

Pepper smiled appreciatively from her seat next to where I was sitting on the couch a few spaces away from Tony, but then blinked at me in surprise, “how did you know I liked cinnamon raisin bagels?”

“Lucky guess,” I shrugged, gave her a knowing smile, but then turned to jeer at Tony. “Think I beat your numbers for sleeping with the most people in forty-eight hours?”

“Wait, did you actually-”

“No!” I snorted, almost choking on my bagel as I handed the cream cheese off to Pepper. “C’mon, Tony.”

“Then why is Obie acting like you’re the newest Victoria’s Secret supermodel,” Tony pointed the remaining half of his bagel at me accusingly. “What did you do, strip for them? And who’s this guy you got a date with?”

“Well, yes, but not the way you’re thinking,” I grinned as his eyes widened in shock. “And it’s Pete Lopez, the cop who pulled you over.”

“Tony, your sister knows how to play the crowd,” Obadiah cut in from his armchair, “she read the room and used what she could to get what we wanted.”

“Speaking of Victoria’s Secret, Miss Stark, they’ve actually contacted me and wanted to speak to you personally,” Pepper piped up, making both mine and Tony’s heads whip towards her.

“About what?” I furrowed an eyebrow curiously.

“Probably a modeling contract,” Tony said, “someone got pictures of you when you left right from the pool last week and drove into town to get a milkshake while wearing, what, shorts and a bikini top? They’re in a shitton of magazines. But really, Lopez?”

“Uh, I wanted a milkshake,” I justified my little escapade, “and I wanted to drive the new car. And yeah, Pete Lopez. You’re welcome — neither of us will ever get pulled over again.”

“Real question is why did Victoria’s Secret contact  _ my  _ personal assistant about  _ you _ ,” Tony pointed from Pepper to me and then back to Pepper. “You sure they didn’t say they wanted to speak to me?”

“They specifically said Michelle Stark,” Pepper reassured him, putting down what was left of her bagel. “It’s Victoria’s Secret.”

“They might’ve said Anthony Stark,” Tony insisted. “I like lingerie, too.”

“Since when do you wear women’s lingerie?” I teased my brother, and he shot me a glare, opening his mouth to make a retort back.

“I heard them correctly,” Pepper interjected before Tony could make another remark, then she turned to me, “Miss Stark, I am more than happy to serve as the contact for anyone wishing to get in touch with you-”

“Are you trying to leave me?” Tony jumped in, placing a hand over his heart and looking offended. “Do you like Mitch better than me, now? Is that what’s going on here? Did she seduce you too, with the mythical people powers Obie is raving about? Mitch, you’re seriously gonna steal my assistant?”

“Nah,” I drawled, finishing my bagel and leaning back on the leather couch. “But I’ll take you up on that offer, Pepper, if you’re serious.”

“I am, Miss Stark,” the redhead smiled at me. 

“Excellent, then provided you can handle it, you’re hired.”

“She’s  _ been _ hired!” Tony scowled, waving a hand through the air. “What are we gonna do, double her pay?”

“Yes,” I answered simply, turning to look blankly at my brother while Pepper tried to insist this wasn’t necessary.

“How many things are you planning on needing her to do? She’s just one woman,” Tony argued, still miffed that it seemed like Pepper and I were ganging up on him. 

I shrugged, “I dunno. That board meeting was a big ego boost, but I can already feel myself getting bored. Maybe I’ll see what Victoria’s Secret wants, maybe I’ll make my own clothing company. Maybe I’ll start investing in things.”

“What things?” Tony and Obadiah both demanded. 

“With the company money?” Obadiah questioned me, his eyes narrowing.

“No, this will be a personal thing,” I rolled my eyes, “it’s so obvious you both think I’ll ruin the company by investing in something stupid. Didn’t I just secure the board’s support for the arc reactor?”

“Yeah, but don’t invest in something like that new Youtube thing,” Obie snorted, “they’ll never make it.”

I tilted my head and frowned at Obadiah, “did you know I was considering that or was that a guess?”

Obadiah stared at me, making it clear it was just a guess. “I know you have a business degree, Mitch-”

“Mitch is right,” Tony said, having watched the toss off between Obie and I before turning to me, “throw Stark Industries behind Youtube. Then see how many shares they’ll let us each buy, personally, that is.”

“You two can’t be serious,” Obadiah gaped between Tony and I as though we were going insane. “It’s called  _ Youtube _ , it’s not going anywhere.”

“It’s got a chance,” Tony said, picking up the tiny missile again and twirling it between his hands, “the internet is taking off, Obie. Old-timers like you gotta catch up.”


End file.
